From My Typewriter

04/09/2026

“If I have a dime, they have a nickel. And if they need the dime, they can have that too.”

- Dolly Parton

She was one of twelve children.

They grew up in a tiny cabin in the mountains of East Tennessee, without running water or electricity, where there was very little money and an enormous amount of family.

Then one of those children became Dolly Parton.

She left the mountains to make her fortune, but in many ways, she never really left at all.

There are countless stories about Dolly’s generosity. Millions given to disaster victims. Money for hospitals and medical research. Scholarships. And, of course, the little library she started in her own home county that grew into Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library, giving free books to millions of children.

But some of her loveliest acts of generosity were much closer to home.

Dolly didn’t just send money back to the place she came from.

She brought opportunity back with her.

When she became involved with Dollywood in 1986, one of her great hopes was that it would provide employment for the people of the Smoky Mountains.

It did.

The little girl who had left Tennessee with dreams of becoming a star helped create an enterprise that would become one of the biggest employers in her home county.

And her own family were woven through it too.

Her brother Bobby helped recreate their childhood cabin at Dollywood. Their mother, Avie Lee, furnished the inside, using family treasures to make it look as it had when twelve children squeezed into that little mountain home.

Her brother Randy became a popular performer at Dollywood for many years.

Her sister Cassie performed there too.

So did nieces, cousins and their beloved Uncle Bill Owens - the uncle who had recognised something special in little Dolly and helped her take her first steps into the music business.

Years later, Dolly created a Dollywood show called My People: Dolly’s Letter Home.

It wasn’t merely about her family.

She put them in it.

Randy and Cassie sang. Her nieces and cousins performed.

Dolly joked that the money from the show was going to:

“Some very needy people - mine!”

It was funny.

But perhaps it also revealed something rather lovely about her.

Dolly knew the difference between giving somebody something and giving them an opportunity.

And she never seemed embarrassed by where she came from.

Quite the opposite.

She celebrated it.

When she became successful, she didn’t erase the poverty from her story. She built a replica of that little cabin and put it inside Dollywood for millions of people to see.

She didn’t hide the fact that her father couldn’t read or write either.

She adored him.

And because she knew his inability to read had limited his opportunities in life, she started the Imagination Library in his honour.

It began in 1995, giving free books to preschool children in the same Tennessee county where Dolly had grown up.

From that small beginning, it spread around the world.

Perhaps that’s the thread running through so much of what Dolly did.

She remembered.

She remembered the children who had very little.

She remembered the father who couldn’t read.

She remembered the brothers and sisters who had shared that tiny house.

She remembered the uncle who had helped her when she was the one who needed an opportunity.

And she remembered the mountains and the people she had left behind when she went away to become a star.

Dolly Parton became rich enough that a dime no longer meant very much.

But perhaps she never forgot what it meant when it was all you had.

And if she had the dime?

Her family had the nickel.

And if they needed the dime too…

They could have that.

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- From My Typewriter

03/08/2026

23/07/2026

Many people know Stephen King as the “King of Horror”.

Few know that the surname King wasn’t even the name his father was born with.

Stephen’s father was born Donald Po***ck but later changed his surname to King before Stephen was born. Then, when Stephen was just two years old, he walked out one day, saying he was going to buy ci******es, and never came home.

His mother, Nellie Ruth, was left to raise Stephen and his older brother, David, on her own.

Life wasn’t easy.

The family moved frequently as she searched for work and affordable places to live. Money was always scarce, but she never stopped encouraging her sons to read, imagine and dream.

Stephen and David found comfort in stories.

David produced a small neighbourhood newspaper, while Stephen filled notebooks with tales of monsters, mysteries and adventure. The brothers inspired one another, discovering that imagination was something no one could ever take away.

As a young husband and father, Stephen’s own life echoed the struggles of his childhood.

He worked in an industrial laundry, taught English and took on whatever work he could find, writing late into the night after his family had gone to sleep.

There were times when money was so tight that he later recalled being unable to afford antibiotics when one of his children became ill.

Many people would have accepted that life had other plans.

Stephen simply kept writing.

Today, his books have sold more than 350 million copies, been translated into dozens of languages and introduced generations of readers to unforgettable characters.

Yet behind every novel is still the little boy whose father disappeared, whose determined single mother refused to give up, and whose older brother shared his love of stories.

A friend introduced me to Stephen King around 1979, when I first read The Stand. I went on to read all of his early books, and every new release felt like catching up with an old friend. I suspect many readers will know exactly what I mean.

Perhaps that’s the real magic of great writers.

They don’t simply tell us stories.

Somehow, they become part of our own.

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- From My Typewriter

23/07/2026

Before the world knew Carole King as a singer, it already knew her songs.

Many people know Carole King as the voice behind the iconic 1971 album Tapestry.

What fewer people realise is that she had already helped shape popular music long before she stepped into the spotlight herself.

Born Carol Joan Klein in Brooklyn, she was still a teenager when she began taking her songs to music publishers in Manhattan. By the age of 18, she and lyricist Gerry Goffin had written “Will You Love Me Tomorrow”, the first No. 1 hit for The Shirelles.

It was only the beginning.

Together, they went on to write classics including The Loco-Motion, Up on the Roof, One Fine Day, You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman, Take Good Care of My Baby, and hundreds more.

In total, Carole King has written or co-written more than 400 songs, recorded by over 1,000 artists.

Before fame found her, she was simply a young woman in New York writing songs in the legendary Brill Building, alongside a generation of future music legends. While studying at Queens College, she became friends with another aspiring songwriter named Paul Simon. As teenagers, neither could have imagined the impact they would have on music.

Then, in 1971, Carole finally stepped from behind the scenes and released Tapestry.

The album spent 15 consecutive weeks at No. 1, won four Grammy Awards and became one of the best-selling albums of all time.

On this day in 1995, Tapestry received Diamond certification after selling more than 10 million copies in the United States.

I was fortunate enough to see Carole perform Tapestry live in Hyde Park, thanks to a wonderful gift from my daughter. Hearing thousands of voices sing every word together felt like stepping inside the very songs she had spent a lifetime creating - a reminder that great music doesn’t simply entertain us.

It becomes part of who we are.

Away from music, Carole has devoted much of her life to environmental conservation, helping protect the wild landscapes of Idaho that she now calls home.

Some artists have hit records.

Carole King helped write the soundtrack to generations.

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- From My Typewriter

18/07/2026

My dad bought me a cream Brother typewriter so I could practice my typing at home. I never imagined that decades later it would inspire a page dedicated to words and stories. I hope you enjoy this page as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it. 💗

18/07/2026

A quiet moment from a walk in Scotland.

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- From My Typewriter

17/07/2026

Before the world knew her as Annie Lennox, Scotland knew her simply as a lass from Aberdeen.

In 1971, a seventeen-year-old girl from a Rosemount tenement packed a suitcase and boarded a train to London, clutching an acceptance letter from the Royal Academy of Music.

She was the daughter of a shipyard worker and a school dinner lady.

There wasn’t even a television in their home.

Like so many Scottish families of that generation, money was tight, but books, music and hard work filled the gaps.

Long before London, a choir teacher named Jean Auchinachie recognised something special in Annie’s voice and encouraged her to believe she could make a life in music.

Sometimes all it takes is one person who sees something in you before you see it yourself.

At the Royal Academy she studied flute, piano and harpsichord, supporting herself by working in restaurants and shops. Yet despite earning a place at one of the world’s most prestigious music schools, she never truly felt she belonged.

Three years later she walked away. She has often called herself a dropout.
The Academy was reportedly horrified.

For a while she was simply another struggling musician trying to make ends meet in London.

Then came Eurythmics.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).

More than 80 million records sold.

Four Grammy Awards. An Academy Award. A Golden Globe. An OBE.

Looking back, it all seems inevitable.
Annie Lennox says it wasn’t.

Years later she admitted she didn’t even think of herself as an artist until someone else believed she could be.

But perhaps the most remarkable discovery of her life happened decades after she became famous.

Curious about her family’s past, Annie began tracing her Scottish ancestry.

The records told a story she had never known. A great-great-grandmother officially listed as a pauper. Another ancestor forced to seek poor relief after being widowed.

One heartbreaking parish record describing a young girl who could be returned if there was “no further use for her.”

Generation after generation had lived with poverty so deep that opportunity simply didn’t exist.

Suddenly Annie realised something extraordinary.

Without knowing it, she had become the first person in a long documented line of her family ever to be given the chance to step beyond that cycle.

Perhaps that’s why poverty has never been an abstract issue for her.

Why she has spent decades speaking out for women, children and families living in hardship.

Why she has never forgotten where she came from.

She has remained fiercely proud of Scotland, defended Aberdeen when she felt it mattered, and later became Chancellor of Glasgow Caledonian University—bringing her journey full circle through education, opportunity and social justice.

I was reminded of Annie recently when I watched her take part in the tribute to Joni Mitchell as Joni performed I’m Still Standing.

There was something quietly moving about seeing those two remarkable women together.

Not just because of everything they had achieved, but because of everything they had survived.

Annie no longer looked like the striking young woman with the orange hair from the Sweet Dreams video.

She looked exactly as she shoul - gracious, thoughtful, compassionate and completely comfortable in her own skin.

The world sees an international music legend. I still see the lass from Aberdeen. And perhaps that’s the real story.

Sometimes success isn’t about leaving where you came from behind.

Sometimes it’s about carrying Scotland with you wherever life takes you.

Remarkable, isn’t it? 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

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- From My Typewriter

17/07/2026

“It was more than a television programme. It changed a nation.”

When Cathy Come Home was broadcast in 1966, millions of people watched the story of a young couple whose lives unravelled until they found themselves homeless.

Directed by Ken Loach, it was filmed with such realism that many viewers believed they were watching a documentary rather than a drama.

For the first time, homelessness entered living rooms across Britain. Public attitudes shifted, politicians took notice, and charities such as Shelter saw a huge surge in support. It became one of the most influential television dramas ever made.

Many years later, I managed a project for a homelessness charity, so this story has always felt especially close to my heart. One thing I learned is that people experiencing homelessness aren’t a different breed of people. They are us. A relationship ends. A job disappears. An illness strikes. A bereavement changes everything. Sometimes a few difficult events are all it takes for someone’s life to unravel. Most of us are far more vulnerable than we’d like to believe. It reminded me that compassion matters, because none of us knows what lies around the next corner.

But perhaps the most extraordinary chapter of Ken Loach’s career came a few years later.

In 1971, the Save the Children Fund commissioned him to make a documentary about its work.

Instead of producing a reassuring promotional film, Loach showed poverty as he found it - raw, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. His message was that charity alone could never solve the deeper causes of inequality.

The charity was so unhappy with the result that it withdrew the film before it could be shown publicly. It remained locked away for more than 40 years.

Only decades later was The Save the Children Fund Film finally screened, allowing audiences to judge it for themselves.

Years later, Ken Loach would once again spark a national conversation with I, Daniel Blake. For many people, it challenged long-held assumptions about unemployment, inviting audiences to see that hardship is often shaped by circumstance and systems as much as by individual choices.

Whatever your views on Ken Loach’s films, few directors have had such a profound impact on how ordinary people’s lives are portrayed - and how society responds to them.

Sometimes the stories that change the world are simply the ones that refuse to look away.

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- From My Typewriter

17/07/2026

☀️”Could you patent the sun?”

The interviewer had asked a simple question.

Who owned the patent to the new polio vaccine? It was worth a fortune.

Enough to make its creator one of the richest men in America.

The answer came quietly.

“Well, the people, I would say. There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?”

The man who spoke those words was Jonas Salk. With one sentence, he revealed exactly who he was.

By choosing not to seek a patent for the vaccine, he never made the vast personal fortune that many believed he could have earned.

His reward wasn’t measured in wealth.
It was measured in lives saved.

But to understand why those words mattered so much, you have to go back to a time when no parent wanted summer to arrive.

Every year brought fear. Children went to bed healthy. Days later, some couldn’t walk. Some couldn’t breathe.
Some never came home.

Polio became one of the most feared diseases of the twentieth century.

Swimming pools closed. Parents kept their children indoors.

Hospitals filled with children, while rows of iron lungs breathed for those whose muscles no longer could.

The disease didn’t care if you were rich or poor. It didn’t care who your parents were. It struck without warning. Then came Jonas Salk.

He wasn’t chasing fame. He wasn’t chasing fortune. He was racing against time.

Every year without a vaccine meant more frightened families. More hospital wards. More funerals.

In 1954, nearly 1.8 million children took part in one of the largest medical trials in history. They became known as the Polio Pioneers.

Parents placed extraordinary trust in a scientist they had never met. Every injection carried hope. Every injection carried risk.

And Jonas Salk carried the weight of it all. Then the announcement came.

“Safe, effective, and potent.”

People cried. Church bells rang across America. Newspapers rushed out special editions.

Across the Atlantic, Britain watched with hope. The news dominated the headlines.

Within days, the Government announced plans to produce the vaccine for the NHS as quickly as possible.

Families on both sides of the ocean believed the same thing…

The nightmare might finally be ending.

Despite creating one of the greatest medical breakthroughs in history…

Jonas Salk never received a Nobel Prize.

History doesn’t always honour people in the way we’d expect.

But perhaps the greatest tribute wasn’t a medal.

It was the millions of children who grew up to live full, ordinary lives because of his work.

Today, many younger people have never seen the effects of polio.

That’s because Jonas Salk changed the world.

But not everyone escaped it.

Actors Alan Alda and Mia Farrow both survived polio as children.

Singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell was just nine years old when she became ill.

Musician Neil Young also contracted polio during childhood.

Their stories remind us how widespread the disease once was - how close it came to so many lives.

For me, polio was never just something I read about in a history book.

When I was at school, one of my friends, Karen, had survived polio.
She wore callipers on her legs and had to leave every class five minutes before the bell so she had enough time to reach the next classroom.

I was the person who walked with her.
It’s one of those quiet memories that has stayed with me all my life.

Most people spend their lives trying to build wealth. Jonas Salk spent his trying to save children.

Perhaps that’s why, more than seventy years later, we still remember the man who asked the simplest of questions…

“Could you patent the sun?”

💛 Some people change history.

Others change humanity.

Jonas Salk did both.

📖 If you enjoy remarkable true stories and thoughtful words, please like, follow and share. I’d love you to join me for another one tomorrow.

- From My Typewriter